You Know You Want To
by tsukibeam
Summary: "Take what you want," she growled back at him. Or, B seduces V. Pre-Andriods.


I have no excuse for this, other than work was boring. There's really no point to this, it doesn't offer anything new in terms of their ~hook up~, but oh boy are these two fun to write. So enjoy.

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"You know you want to fuck me."

That statement was made after months of dancing around each other- of her barging into his gravity room, stirring up unnecessary arguments that both boiled and thrilled her blood, and of him (blatantly _on purpose_ , in her opinion) destroying any and all tech she served up for him and demanding more. It was push and shove, she enjoyed it immensely.

Ostensibly, it was to get him to stop pushing himself so far, to take a rest. Everyone on the compound knew _that_ was bullshit. Bulma would be lying if she said it didn't serve another purpose: a physical feast for the eyes, because that was exactly what Vegeta was. His body was immaculate-powerfully built, with muscles that her hands were just aching to grasp and graze with teeth and nails.

And Kami, his eyes. Cold and unreadable, but she had seen the way they raked along her body; the intensity with which he silently regarded her sent shivers of flame to her very core.

Her break up with Yamcha had been overdue and final, convenient even, a result of years of drifting apart and stubbornness. It was relief, not grief, she felt when they finally parted ways.

The truth was that she was relieved to not feel _guilt_ in relation to Capsule Corps' resident Saiyan. There was guilt over where her day dreams ventured the longer Vegeta's stay progressed (steamy to the point of requiring cold showers installed in her labs and office). There was guilt over how her heart (and other organs) fluttered whenever he so much as _looked_ at her. There was guilt over the lame and domestic moments with him, where it was just the two of them in the kitchen, and Vegeta look a break from his training for a mid morning cup of coffee.

When she found herself rearranging her schedule to ensure those meetings would happen, she knew she was in trouble.

When she found herself letting her day dreams get the better of her, in the privacy and darkness of her room-when she whispered his name-she knew she was in deep shit.

Which is, in summary, is how she found herself in the gravity room yet again, itching for a spar with his royal pain in the ass. Maybe she was addicted, though she was not interested in admitting it was a _problem_.

Perhaps Vegeta had similarly been eager for her quest to do battle; body slick and hot from his workout, he greeted her with a smirk and roved his eyes over her body, lingering for several moments.

Bulma was not disappointed, which she never was with Vegeta; he truly was a formidable opponent.

They volleyed verbal abuse in a way that Yamcha could never keep up with, trading insults until she could no longer remember _what_ she decided was her excuse for barging in. She couldn't even focus on the very topic at hand, not with his bare chest and very fire mere feet away.

"I don't know why I waste my time associating with such a vulgar and inferior excuse of sentience." His voice sneered, but she saw how his pupils flared as he said _vulgar_. She didn't wear these minuscule shorts and tank top for nothing, after all.

Right. She'd show him _vulgarity_. She sauntered up to him, hips swaying, until she was mere inches from him. He tensed, muscles flickering for barely a second, sweat beading and falling in slick lines. She licked her lips and reached out, running a finger down his hardened stomach.

Steel encased with leather, that's what he was.

Vegeta let out a shuddering gasp, betraying his stoicism, and she smirked as she lifted onto her toes and went for the kill, whispering hot breath into his ear.

"The only time waste is your pride. You know you want to fuck me."

His hand shot up to grab her wrist and to her credit she did not flinch or wince at the force he applied to pull her away. If anything, her heart skidded in lustful response.

"Why would I want to defile my body with the likes of _you_ ," he growled back into her ear.

She could write up a hundred page article, annotated and cited, detailing why the likes of _her_ were incomparable to others and how she'd be doing _him_ a favor, but alas, her patience was wearing.

"Because," her voice was thick with her mounting (skyrocketing) need. "I'm the best fuck you'll find in the universe."

Vegeta's lips twitched; she took that as an invitation and hooked a finger on the waistband of his shorts.

Vegeta slammed her against the wall before she could even blink, hand still around her wrist in an unyielding grip. He growled, but he pressed his body against hers, pinning her absolutely.

They glared at each other, blue and midnight, a silent battle of wills, one which she usually enjoyed (because she usually won), but would get them nowhere now. So she cut it short, which she never did.

Bulma titled her chin up and captured his lips with hers. The reaction was instantaneous, which was her favorite kind. They devoured each other, tongues thrashing and tasting hungrily. He groaned into her mouth and she pulled away with a smirk of triumph, nipping his lip as she did.

"Take what you want," she growled back at him. She wedged her hand down into his shorts and pulled him even closer.

To his credit, when given the proper motivation, Vegeta took direction extremely well.


End file.
